


Possessiveness Fills!

by yavanna



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durincest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yavanna/pseuds/yavanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fills! (from maonethedwarf: http://maonethedwarf.tumblr.com/post/40138414128/5-possessive-kili-fili-prompts)</p><p>The first: “Point of view of one of the members of the company on Fili’s and Kili’s relationship.”</p><p>The second: “Kili is temporarily gone on training and Fili is being insulted and abused in Ered Luin by other dwarves, making fun of the fact he’s blonde, calling him elf bastard. When Kili comes back and finds his brother and lover looking like a mess, he pays visit to his brother’s attackers,putting his new skills to use.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possessiveness Fills!

_One_

Balin sighed. Off they went again, as usual. Fíli and Kíli were always sneaking away and then, well, then there came moans from the woods if he listened quietly. Balin smiled slightly. He always knew that they were close, and now those boys were closer than…well, than Balin wanted to think about.

He turned around and started pondering the next few weeks’ journey. If they camped on the mountain pass, he certainly hoped that the brothers would keep it down. There would be echoes, he sighed, and echoes do not do well when a Company like theirs was trying to sleep. But things would be better once they got to the Mirkwood, he thought. There’d be nice, sound-blocking trees there. Though that could be detrimental to keeping watch…

 

_Two_

Fíli held his breath, ducking behind a fruit cart. Maybe they wouldn’t see him here, hiding. Those fuckers.

“Hey elf-scum!” came a catcall from above him, and Fíli was pulled up and over the cart by his braids, knocking apples and oranges all over.

“Hey! You lads stop-” the fruitseller’s cry was blocked out, and Fíli could hear only the rush of blood in his ears as he was yanked upwards, see only the brown eyes of his attackers, and feel only the dwarves holding his arms and legs as their leader stared at him.

 _Crack_.

That would be his neck, cracking as it jolted backwards with the force of the blow on his face.

 _Crack_.

And that would be his nose, breaking. Well, if it had been nicely straight before, it wouldn’t be anymore.

 _Crack_.

Ah, and that was his finger. The pinky. Fíli vaguely realised that he was struggling to get free, and it would probably be hurt less if he stopped struggling.

 _Crack_.

His rib, probably a fracture. Fíli didn’t stop trying to get free.

_“You must be a dirty fucking elf, blonde like that.”_

His attacker spat the words out. With a jerk of his head, Fíli was dropped and spat on. He shook his head and stood up slowly. Somewhere along the line, his knees had been wrenched. He was just glad nothing serious had been broken.

He was just glad Kíli hadn’t seen that.

Kíli was gone, away on a hunting trip showing Thorin his skill with the bow. He’d been gone a while- and just as well, since as soon as Kíli had left, Fíli had been attacked by an onslaught of dwarves- well, one, really, and his crew- who assumed that he was an  _elf_. Ugh, Fíli sighed. He didn’t mind elves as much as the other dwarves did, but it was still shameful to be referred to as one of their scum.

But he didn’t want Kíli to know- that would be the worst possible situation. He had to be strong for Kíli, right? Kíli couldn’t see him weak like this. He would be ashamed, and Kíli would be ashamed, and Mahal, it would be awful.

And the longer Kíli was gone, the more healing his wounds did…and the more ache in his heart hurt.

Kíli returned a week later, just long enough for Fíli’s smaller wounds to heal and him to excuse it with a training exercise. Kíli’s eyebrows wrinkled, and Fíli knew that he didn’t believe it; but Fíli sure as hell wasn’t going to admit anything.

They made excuses and retired early, barely closing their bedroom door before kissing madly and caressing each other all over. Kíli lightly tossed Fíli onto their bed and grinned, then, after yanking off his own shirt and straddling Fíli, began to pull Fíli’s off-

And stopped in shock, his hands tracing the bruises on Fíli’s body. Across the chest, up to his face, around to the back of his neck, and back down.

Fíli, acutely aware of his blonde locks covering a scab on his cheek, stopped breathing, cursing himself for forgetting to keep the bandage on, that they hadn’t healed, that those were knuckle marks and not sword bites.

Kíli’s breathing was loud and heavy, and he stared Fíli in his blue eyes. “A sparring match, Fíli? A game? What sort of game does this?”

Fíli sighed and closed his eyes. “A bad one.”

“Against who? How many of them were there against you? How many did they use to pin you down?” Kíli’s voice was angry, angrier than Fíli could have imagined.

Fíli opened his eyes to see rage mixed with pain in Kíli’s eyes. He sighed again. “It’s nothing, Kíli, it’s no-one, it’s not important, okay? It’s fine.”

“ _Why_?”

Fíli couldn’t ever resist that voice, no matter how much he tried. He could never when they were younger and Kíli wanted something, when they were fucking and Kíli was so close, when they were hiking and Kíli asked to see the map, when he didn’t want to tell Kíli how he’d been held and beaten every week he’d been gone.

“You don’t want to know.” Fíli managed, before biting his lips to keep himself from telling.

Kíli’s eyes grew darker and Fíli succumbed. “It was…them. Don’t bother. The ones that used to beat you up for your beard? I’m  _blonde_.” Fíli’s mouth twisted around the word. “Apparently that means that I’m, ah, elvish scum.”

Kíli raised his eyebrows. “You mean my lack of beard, brother,” he said, gently, and kissed Fíli on his lips slowly.

There was no more talk that night, save sighs of pleasure and a pair of “I love you”s.

For the next few days, as Fíli hammered in their forge, Kíli leaned by the doorway, casually examining the passerby and almost guarding the entrance. He whittled with an unusually long knife, flourishing it at certain moments, though Fíli couldn’t tell when.

A sunny morning one week later, the ringleader of the gang was found pinned to a wall with wooden darts in his clothing. When questioned, he stuttered only that “they came out of n-nowhere, from far away! I c-couldn’t tell, don’t know, who threw them.” Ered Luin authorities presumed it a prank and told him he was lucky that the darts had missed his flesh, and small children laughed at the stutter he had developed and his newfound fear of the dark.

Exactly a week passed without incident, and the nightlife resumed their activities, only to wake and find the gang’s second in command pinned, the darts again wooden and missing the. He told the exact same story as his leader, minus the stuttering and with significantly more fear.

Every morning for the next three days, another gang member was found pinned. Each dart was perfectly aimed, each attack (if you could call it that) at night, and each member developed a fear of the dark and lost much of his respect.

After the last of the five had been found and let down, Fíli and Kíli lay in bed, Fíli in Kíli’s arms.

“Kíli,” Fíli asked, “The night aim. The distance. The wooden darts you must have whittled.”

Kíli’s eyebrows raised again. “Must have? I must have done nothing, brother.” And he settled into the pillows, pulling Fíli in closer and closing his eyes.

Fíli frowned, then relaxed. The pain in his chest had healed considerably, and his nose had a bend in it that he though quite dashing. Kíli thought the nose-bend was attractive, too, Fíli knew. And if not your brother- your _lover_ , then what was important?

Nothing.


End file.
